Fellow travellers

The acolytes step on the gangway and board the Cygnan Martyr. Barely minutes after their arrival, the sailors move the last crates onto the airship, fuel hawsers are removed and the Martyr pulls away with a dull hum of its thrusters. The other guests have gone inside.

Drizz and Yuri are shown a tiny, austere cabin with bunk beds, a small table and a metal chair bolted to the floor. The only decoration is a mass-produced devotional picture showing the Emperor on the Golden Throne. As soon as they are alone, they sweep the place for listening devices and install their own surveillance gear. They do this automatically, barely talking about a procedure that has become as habitual as a short prayer. After that, the Acolytes step into the lounge of the airship to meet their fellow travelers.

The Cygnan Martyr cannot be called luxurious, but the lounge is clean and spacious. Its large windows afford a great view on the Balemire Sea, and its ceiling is painted with scenes from the Angevin Crusade. Groups of low tables and armchairs, as well as a simple bar at the back of the lounge complete this area. Here the passengers will spend most of the time, unless they prefer to retreat to their own small cabins or move around on the observation deck.

Apart from the ever-present sailors – two of which are standing guard in the lounge with stubby shotguns – the acolytes soon make out four groups of travelers and learn their names from the ever-helpful Nahun Grist, the ship’s steward and cargo master, who also manages the bar if time allows. Nahun seems to be a close friend of the captain, and also tells of the close connection of the men serving on this airship to their master - “them being in the same rotten guard regiment as me and captain Shadrack for half-score years, and to hell and back, and knee-deep in greenskin guts.” Maybe it would be unwise to underestimated the guards in their bulky chemsuits. Nahun points out a spindly guilder named Lanus Cisten, who sits at a table with two middle-aged, non-descript men wearing rugged, well-worn clothing and bearing large sidearms. Lanus Cisten seems to do all the gesturing and most of the talking, while his neighbours at the table just nod or grunt. At first glance, they seem to be his bodyguards, but Nahun tells the acolytes that these men have their own passage to the House of Dust and Ash – they are independent operators, using the names Vymer and Quill. A table further along, two men and a woman in grey-blue flak armour surround an attractive young lady in strict, black business attire. A hooded and robed adept is working on a data slate, while the lady dictates something in a low voice. The armed trio seems to fill all kinds of functions, apart from being obvious bodyguards – they have the bearing of experienced servants, able to melt away and to become one with the background of any social activity. The adept seems to be a personal assistant: It is not unusual for prosperous guilds and trading houses to provide their agents with helpers which keep the numbers ready, while the negotiators do the talking. The lady goes by the name of Octavia Nile; that is all Nahum Grist can tell, although the acolytes notice that notice that Nahum - and some of the other men in the lounge - steal a glance or two at the pretty agent. Finally, at the part of the lounge farthest away from the bar, at the prow of the ship, a corpulent, bald priest of the ecclesiarchy holds court. He is surrounded by a gaggle of malnourished, ragged men. Ostensibly, he and his followers belong to one of the many sects which preach poverty and neglect of the body as the true paths to the Emperor’s blessing. The priest’s high voice cuts through the hum of the engines and the small-talk going on at the bar and the tables. “Abbot Tamas of Shale, on a pilgrimage with a few favored believers, but he’ll tell you so himself soon enough. Preaching without pause since he put his feet on the Martyr. I wonder why he is so fat, while his men are so thin.” Nahum Grist wipes down another glass.

The acolytes thank Grist for his time and start to make the acquaintance of the others. Lanus Cisten is only too willing to talk to them. A dilettante historian and would-be collector of artifacts from Solomon’s past, he seems to be close to his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to purchase some “real” relics of history. He seems to know a lot about Solomon and seems to be smart enough, but as Yuri will put it later, “does not know when to stop the yapping.” Vymer and Quill, on the other hand, do not talk at all, neither about their reasons for being here nor about themselves. When asked directly, Vymer basically tells Drizz to mind his own business. Octavia Nile, on the other hand, is more open. While she, too, talks of a business partner who wants to stay unknown, she freely shares her impressions of the other travelers, while subtly gauging the acolytes. In her eyes, the priest is a holy fool, Cisten on an expensive pilgrimage of his own, while Vymer and Quill seem to work for another business concern. When she asks the acolytes about their intentions concerning the auction, Drizz tells a finely woven net of lies. He is a “far going trader” who is on the lookout for interesting gadgets or information left by the extinct Haarlock dynasty, but he also hints a shady patrons. Octavia’s face stays bland, but she seems to accept the story at face value. Apart from the priest and the dilettante, everyone aboard the Cygnan Martyr seems to work for powerful, secretive people who sent minions to do the bidding. “We will have to learn the hidden allegiances of each of them” Drizz thinks, “and Emperor help us if they work out who our master is.”